


Rooftop Encounter

by iselsis



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Because he meets a baby stalker while smoking on a rooftop, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Hurt/Comfort lite, Jack and Janet Drake's A+ Parenting, Jason Todd Makes Bad Life Decisions, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd doesn't die, Jason Todd is Robin, Stalker Tim, Stalker Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Underage Smoking, ranting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/pseuds/iselsis
Summary: Tim Drake has nearly given up on the no-show Bats when Robin suddenly lands on the roof behind him. Apparently, Tim is on his smoking roof, and Robin has a lot on his mind.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 220
Kudos: 1596
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, this is not that selkie fic I promised, which I promise I will get to, nor is it chapter eighteen of Unholy Matrimony. I'm almost done with that, but I realized suddenly that I needed a chapter between seventeen and the next one I had plotted, so I'm writing from scratch and it took me seven false starts to figure out where I was going with it. It should be up tonight.  
> Anyway, here's a nice little fic about Tim and Jason without any ABO panic attacks to get in the way.

The rough brick of the office building’s parapet dug into Tim’s elbows, even through his jacket sleeves, and the Bats were apparently not following their usual patrol route for Thursday nights. He’d already checked his phone several times to make sure that there hadn’t been an Arkham breakout or rogue attack that night. Neither Batman nor Robin had been injured the night before, at least not that he’d seen, and it was summer, so it wasn’t any school obligation that would keep Jason in. Maybe the Waynes were going on a vacation. 

If it dragged on much longer, then he’d have to give up and go home. He’d give it another five minutes, and then-

There was a soft thud on the gravel behind him, and Tim yelped and scrambled to his feet so fast that he tripped over the parapet and fell back towards the street several stories below. 

A hand grabbed the front of his hoodie and yanked him forward. Tim stumbled, then caught himself and spun to face his accidentally almost murderer/rescuer, and-

“What the fuck?” Robin demanded.

Tim’s brain died, but Tim’s finger hit the shutter button and captured for all eternity the image of Robin glaring. At him. Five feet away.

Robin’s mask shifted like he was raising his eyebrow incredulously at Tim. “Did you just take a picture of me?” 

Tim choked on his own stupidity. “No.”

“That’s creepy, kid.” Jason crossed his arms. “What are you even doing out here?”

Stalking, actually, but Tim had learned a long time ago that if you were digging yourself into a hole, the first thing to do was stop digging.

What Tim had not learned was how to tactfully change the subject. 

“What are…. _you_ ….doing….here?” Was there any way to perform CPR on your last threads of self-respect? “Sneaking up on kids like a creep.”

Robin scoffed and stepped toward Tim. Tim jumped out of the way, but Robin didn’t follow him. Instead, he went straight to the parapet and knelt down. A small part of Tim, probably his last two brain cells crashing into each other at last, pointed out that he should probably be making his escape while Robin was occupied, but the larger, curiouser part of Tim that had drawn him out into the heart of Gotham to secretly photograph vigilantes wanted to know what Robin was doing.

Robin lifted the stone that Tim had been leaning on from its place. Tim hadn’t even noticed that it had been loose, but now he could see that there was a small crevice underneath it, a space between the bricks it had covered. 

Robin reached into the crevice, apparently trusting his gloves to protect him from any of the creepy crawly things that lived in the dark, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

Tim’s jaw dropped. “You can’t smoke, that’s bad for you.”

Maybe it was none of his business, but he felt personally involved after years of watching the Bats fight through impossible odds and come out swinging, or get horribly injured and yet still appear in public the next day as though nothing had happened. Robin couldn’t just die of _lung cancer_ after surviving a fight with Killer Croc. That was just…not how things were supposed to work.

Robin turned around and stared at him. Or, at least, he probably did; it was hard to tell through the unnerving whiteout lenses. Then he snorted.

“You’re kidding me, right? I’m getting a lesson in _safety_ from a rich little kid in the middle of Gotham, alone, at night, with an expensive meal ticket around his neck. By the way, where do you live, because I’ll take you home after this because I’m nice and don’t like babies getting murdered.”

Tim bristled and clutched his camera defensively. “I’ve been doing this for years. No one’s ever caught me before.”

Again with the incredulous mask lift. “Sure, and the Joker is finally responding to his meds.”

Tim scowled, but the only way to prove that he was telling the truth would be to show Robin the pictures he had from days and weeks and months ago to show that not only had he been doing this awhile, he did it often too. If Robin was a snitch, he might try to tell Tim’s parents, which wouldn’t work, but could get him in trouble. He knew that it was _technically_ illegal for his parents to leave him alone for months on end, but it had worked out pretty well for him and he was loathe to give up his independence if Batman started poking into his homelife.

Robin pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. “Cut me some slack. I need it tonight, kid.”

“I don’t think you can ever _need_ a multitude of health issues,” Tim pointed out.

Robin took in a drag anyway, completely ignoring Tim’s valid points about his health. 

Robin dropped onto the parapet and swung his legs over the side so that they dangled far above the sidewalk below. “Well, take a seat, kid. You’re not leaving without me, and I’m not leaving until I’ve smoked at least half a pack.”

Tim sighed and came to sit next to Robin. He didn’t really like sitting so close to the edge, but he also didn’t want Robin to think that he was a wimp, so he let his own legs dangle too, though he sat a lot farther back on his seat than Robin was.

Robin had smoked two and a half cigarettes before Tim finally broke the silence, if just because Robin couldn’t talk and smoke at the same time. If Tim timed it right, he could get the cigarette to burn out. Sure, Robin had others, but if Tim kept it up, he wouldn’t have as _many_ others.

“So, what happened? Why do you need to smoke? Where’s Batman?”

Jason glanced at him, then glanced away and pulled in another breath of nicotine and tar. “That’s a lot of questions.”

Tim gave it a moment, feeling his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He had known Robin for maybe ten minutes, and Tim was already annoying him. Still, the situation called for…not tough love, but tough hero worship, definitely. 

“It’s only three. Can’t you answer them? Since you are keeping me here against my will?”

Robin snorted again. “I have made a citizen’s arrest of a runaway. That’s not like kidnapping.”

Of course, but it was unlawful imprisonment, probably. “I’m not a runaway, and you’re dodging the question. What are you doing out here?”

“Really, I could ask the same. I did, and you ignored me. So, how about a trade,” Robin proposed, and the orange glow of his cigarette was burning steadily closer to the butt. “An answer for an answer.”

That did not sound great, but if it kept Robin occupied, then fine. He could test out his lying capabilities, anyway.

“Fine. Youngest first,” Tim said, and Robin didn’t dispute it. “Why did you come out here? Why are you running from Batman?”

Robin scoffed, but it was only half-hearted. “That was two questions, but I’ll allow it. I found out some…family stuff. I came out here to get some air, away from the boss.”

“Family stuff?”

“And it’s my turn,” Robin cut in, technically, but legally sidestepping the question. “What’s a kid like you doing out here at night?”

Tim shrugged, but it didn’t stop his pounding heart. A kernel of truth, right? He couldn’t let Robin find out just what he took pictures of, but denying the photography spiel would be hard to sell, especially with his professional camera and bag hanging from him.

“I, uh, like taking night photography of the city. My turn.” Mostly true. Tim tilted his head. “What kind a family stuff?”

Jason’s shoulders slumped, and he turned out to face Gotham with such despondency that Tim couldn’t even manage a scolding or mental disapproval about the smoking.

“I found out that my mom wasn’t my real mom, and that my real mom is working in Ethiopia,” Robin confessed, his vocal disguise slipping and an awful lot of Jason Todd bleeding through. “I want to meet her, but I don’t know if Batman will allow it.”

Tim frowned. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Not your question, kid. Do your parents know that you’re out here alone?” Robin ground out the cigarette butt, then put it in a pouch in his belt with the others. Breaking and entering was fine; littering was where he drew the line. 

Tim’s chest tightened and breathing was suddenly not a thing anymore. There was no kernel of truth this time, and he had to really sell it, or Robin was going to think that it was weird and maybe dangerous. “Well, uh, they’re out of town, and the guest bedroom is really far from _my_ bedroom, so, yeah. My babysitter, she um, exists – I mean, she can’t hear me climb out my window. And stuff.”

“That is so not the truth. I want the real answer,” Robin chuckled.

Tim frowned. “No.”

“You agreed-”

“That’s your answer. No, they don’t know I’m here. My turn,” Tim said, giving Robin his most withering glare to dare him to interrupt. Robin didn’t look particularly withered, but he didn’t argue.

“Why do you think that Batman won’t let you meet your mom?” 

Robin shrugged, moved to light another cigarette, then didn’t. He just spun the cigarette back and forth in his fingers. “I don’t know. He’s just…overprotective. I don’t know how he’d feel about me running to the Middle East to find my real mom who probably didn’t even want me in the first place. I’ll probably just have to run away for a bit. He’ll be made when I get back, but it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”

There was a tinge of desperation in Robin’s tone, like he wanted an answer, and wasn’t just using a phrase. Tim didn’t really know much about moms and how they were supposed to work, but he was pretty sure that Jason was making a mistake. “If she didn’t want you, then isn’t your other mom your _real_ mom?”

Robin looked over at Tim like Tim had just grown a third arm.

“I mean, your real mom was the one who raised you, not the one who gave birth to you.” He was pretty sure that was the rule on that. “She was your adopted mom. And sure, this other lady’s, like, your _blood_ mom, and maybe she’s nice, but maybe you should take things slow. Running away to the other side of the world seems like kind of a dangerous first step toward someone who kind of abandoned you.”

“She might have had a good reason!” Jason argued defensively.

She may have, true. “Have you tried calling her?”

Robin hesitated, then shook his head. “Maybe that would be a good idea.”

“Batman would probably also go with you, right? To make sure that you’re safe, since he cares and all,” Tim added, hoping to get Robin away from the international runaway idea.

“Do you think he would?” Robin sounded even more reluctantly vulnerable. It had clearly been bothering him a lot.

“Of course. I mean, Bruce seems pretty nice.” Batman always seemed to care so much about his Robins. Tim had seen firsthand just how ruthless Batman was after one of them had been injured, and he’d also gotten a few photographs of Batman and Robin getting mid-patrol ice cream or chilidogs. Surely, if Robin wanted to meet his biological mother, then Batman would make it happen. 

Robin started to nod, then stiffened beside him. “What did you say?”

Tim frowned. “Batman seems nice?”

But…no.

He hadn’t said that. 

Tim swung his legs back onto the roof and got two steps into his mad dash for freedom before Robin grabbed his hood and yanked him back. Tim tried to unzip his jacket – he’d rather freeze and have to buy a new jacket than have to face the wrath he had just unleashed – but Robin threw an arm around Tim’s neck and pulled him back against his chest. Necks were an awful lot harder to replace than jackets, and he kind of liked that one he had.

“Who told you that?” Robin snarled, the vulnerability gone and replaced with rage. “Is this a set up?” 

“No!” Tim didn’t answer further, so Robin gave him a shake.

“It was an accident,” Tim yelped. “I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Who _told_ you?” 

“I figured it out by myself?”

“Are you asking me or telling me? How did you _figure it out_ ,” Robin demanded.

“Are you really sure you want me spelling it out right here?” There could always be someone listening, waiting. Even calling Batman “Bruce” could have been a fatal error for the man.

Jason considered that for a moment, then gave a step toward the edge of the roof. For a panicked second, Tim thought that Robin was going to try Batman’s dangling method of interrogation. It wasn’t like he thought that Robin would intentionally hurt him, but he also wasn’t sure if fifteen-year-old Robin was actually strong enough to hold twelve-year-old Tim over a several-story drop. 

Robin dragged him over to the fire escape and shoved Tim onto it. 

“I’m taking you to the Batcave, and you are going to tell me, and _Batman_ ….” Robin let that threat sink in for a moment. “Exactly how you know who we are. Got it?”

“The Batcave?” They seriously called it the Batcave? And he was being taken there? Impending doom aside, that was cool.

“You don’t sound scared enough,” Robin warned.

Tim thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, you’re not going to kill me, and you’re probably not going to beat me up, either. There’d be a big fuss if I went missing, so you can’t kidnap me for long-” A lie, but Robin didn’t need to know that. “-and I have black hair and blue eyes, but I also have parents, so Mr. W-” Tim caught himself before the slip. He was _not_ proving that he could responsibly keep secrets under pressure. Still, at least he'd get the chance to warn Batman about Jason's plan before Jason could get himself killed trying to track down his absentee mom. Actually, if he told Batman about it, then Batman might be too interested with Robin's parent situation to bother looking into Tim's parent situation, which was a definite plus. “-Batman can’t adopt me, either.”

“What’s black hair and blue eye gotta do with it?” He sounded genuinely curious.

Tim shrugged. “He’s clearly got a type.”

Robin scowled and swung over onto the fire escape. He was marching down the rickety, rusted stairs before Tim could catch up.

“B does not have a _type_ , and even if he did, it isn’t kids. I’m so sick of everyone saying that all the time,” Robin snapped.

Tim’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean like that, I just meant that there’s just kind of a pattern. Maybe he wants kids who look like him? Just ignores the suffering of all other children or something? I mean, two’s not _exactly_ a pattern, but if he wanted _me_ too, then it would kind of prove that he’s got a…totally platonic type.”

Robin paused so suddenly that Tim almost ran into him, and looked over his shoulder at Tim. “You are weird. I’m not even wearing pants, but you are weird.”

Which was kind of totally unfair, and Tim didn’t even know what had brought it on, but then Robin had started walking again and Tim had to job to keep up.

“Do you call everything bat?” Tim asked, because now that he knew that they had _bat_ -arangs, the _Bat _-mobile, the _Bat_ -cave, he was just kind of curious. He only had a bit longer before his parents were called and he entered the seventh circle of Hell, so he may as well get his answers.__

__Robin groaned. “Do you _shut up_?” _ _

__Tim tilted his head in consideration. Normally, people were trying to get him to start talking, not shut up, except for his parents, and they had work to do that he shouldn’t have been interrupting anyway. “Sometimes on Tuesdays. I’ll shut up for sixty seconds if you answer my question.”_ _

__Robin sighed in exasperation and lowered the fire escape ladder. It fell with a shriek and a groan. “Fine. Sort of. Nightwing went through a phase where he called everything bat-, and now the habit’s stuck.”_ _

__“So you _do_ call everything bat.” Tim snickered. How far did that go? Bat-showers, bat-cookie, bat-beds?_ _

__Robin didn’t bother with the ladder and just jumped the last ten feet to the alley floor. Tim, not nearly as acrobatic and the reason Robin had lowered the ladder in the first place, followed as quickly as he could while vowing to get a tetanus shut before he came out next. Well, if he came out next._ _

__“You said that you were going to shut up,” Robin reminded him, though the edge he snuck in his words didn’t seem particularly forceful._ _

__“I was just clarifying my answer. The time starts now,” Tim said, starting the mental countdown and maybe rushing it a bit so that he could squeeze in a few more questions. How did vigilante healthcare even work?_ _

__Robin led Tim to a motorcycle, emblazoned with the Robin symbol on the side, hidden in the shadows. Robin climbed onto it, then gestured for Tim to get on behind him._ _

__“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” Robin asked, clearly expecting Tim to say no._ _

__“No,” Tim answered, never one to disappoint._ _

__“Well, get on. I’ll go slow, but hold on tight and try not to die.”_ _

__Tim bit his lip to try to stifle his massive grin. He couldn’t completely manage it, so he tried to hide it by paying extra close attention to the enrapturing task of putting his camera away. First, he replaced the lens cap, then he slowly unscrewed the lens. He was pretty sure that Robin didn’t know much about cameras, so he could take the time to collect himself and launch into a made up rant about how easily damaged the screwy-in bit on a camera lens was if you hurried. Robin would probably buy it. Once that was done, he carefully placed the lens in its section, then the camera in the large section, before clipping up the bag and climbing up behind Robin._ _

__“Finally,” Robin muttered. “Put your arms around my waist and don’t let go if you like your face.”_ _

__Some slow night it had turned out to be. It was almost like a dream come true. Sure, he’d ticked off Robin, but he was also going to get to see the actual Batcave. They couldn’t be _too_ mad at him, anyway, since it was Dick’s fault that he’d figured it out in the first place. Maybe they’d even let him take some pictures of the place, if his imprisonment went on for long._ _

__Tim wrapped his arms around Jason’s torso and clung tightly. Jason kicked the motorcycle into gear and they took off, speeding toward Bristol. Yeah, things had turned out pretty well._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this idea, then wrote it all in one sitting between three thirty and six in the morning. This has not been proofread and I'm tired, so please have mercy, lol. Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, y'all bullied me into a second chapter. Here is Bruce's reaction to Jason kidnapping a kid. Sorry to the person I told that this would be up last night; I had a ton of computer problems crop up and I had to deal with those :P Also, I added ~4000 words to what I had intended, so I guess longer wait = longer chapter.  
> Also, since the Drakes weren't neighbors with the Waynes until after Jack woke up from his coma, they're not going to be here.  
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments, even the ones who ganged up on me and forced my hand (I'm going to keep pretending that I wasn't flattered and excited so I can keep guilt tripping you).

Bruce was sitting at the Batcomputer, reading a casefile, when he heard the thrum of Robin’s motorcycle zooming into the cave. Bruce had noticed that it, and Jason’s costume, were both missing when he’d come down, but Jason had deactivated his tracker and comm. Bruce could remotely turn them back on, of course, but he didn’t feel like having another argument with his son. If that meant letting him steal a motorcycle and taking a joyride for a few hours, then he would save the lecture for when Jason returned.

Bruce didn’t turn as Jason killed the engine, swung off his bike, and stormed towards him. 

“B,” Jason snapped, and Bruce bit his cheek to keep from snapping back. 

Apparently, the joyride hadn’t helped, and they were going to have a fight anyway. He spun the chair around and faced Jason.

And the small child he was dragging behind him. 

Bruce stared incredulously at Jason and the child. His cowl was up, since he’d been thinking of going out, but Jason couldn’t have known that it would be when he’d made the incredibly foolish decision to bring a child into the cave. 

“Do you have a secret love child or something?” Jason snapped before Bruce could say anything, shaking the kid by the hood of his jacket to emphasize his point.

“Hi, Mr. Wayne,” the boy said, biting his lip to hide a wide grin.

Bruce stood to his feet like he’d been shocked, staring from the boy to Jason. No wonder Jason hadn’t worried whether or not Bruce would be in costume; it didn’t matter, because Jason had _told_ a civilian child their identities. And what was he talking about, a love child?

“Explain,” Bruce snapped at them both.

Jason opened his mouth to talk, but his prisoner cut him off.

“Jason went out to smoke and he’s going to run away,” the boy said cheerfully. “Can I look around?”

“I am _not_!” Jason argued, giving the kid another shake. “I said I _might_ run away!” 

The boy just rolled his eyes and tried to pry Jason’s fingers off of his hood, but Bruce felt like he’d been smacked.

He was a terrible father. _Awful_. He’d already driven one son to run away, and now he’d managed to do it again, because no matter how many mistakes he learned from, there were always more he didn’t even notice. How could he have been so blind to how much their fighting had hurt Jason? 

And then there was the boy Jason had dragged home. The boy who knew their identities. Had Jason _kidnapped_ him? He’d seen that child somewhere before, though… A friend of Jason’s? He looked too young, but that would at least be a more manageable disaster than Jason having kidnapped a strange boy while out as Robin and told him their identities. And damn, he’d need to warn Dick that they’d been compromised, but Dick was barely even talking to him. What if he couldn’t reach him in time?

His mind caught on the most manageable detail. 

“You smoke?” 

Jason’s jaw dropped. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?!” 

“Lung cancer is-”

“Gonna kill me _later_ , B! And you didn’t answer my question. Is this yours?” Jason lifted the kid’s hood in exasperation.

Even the boy looked confused. “No?”

“Why in the world would he be mine?” Bruce pushed back his cowl and ran a hand down his face.

Jason shrugged and dropped the boy’s hood. “Don’t run off,” he warned, before giving Bruce a disbelieving lift of an eyebrow. “Black hair, blue eyes, annoyingly smart, and knows who we are. Sounds like a secret love child if I’d ever head of one. You got an ex who knows who you are?”

Talia, of course, but their child had died before it had even been born. If the boy was anyone’s secret child, it would have been Selina’s. He couldn’t think of any other woman he’d been with who wouldn’t have used the child to demand exorbitant amounts of child support, or any other women who knew that he was Batman. Still…

“That’s not how I figured it out,” the boy clarified, calming the small doubt that had worried that Jason might be right.

That, of course raised the question of how _did_ the boy know? The boy had said that he had figured it out, which implied that no one had told him. Bruce didn’t know if he was relieved that the boy hadn’t learned it from one of the Rogues, or deeply concerned that a young child had managed to figure out who he was without any help. 

“What’s your name?” Bruce asked, starting small.

“I’m Ti-” the boy cut off, his eyes widening like he hadn’t meant to give Bruce his actual name. His shoulders slumped when he realized that there wasn’t much recovery. “I’m Tim.”

Bruce tried to remember where he’d seen Tim before. Jason didn’t know who he was, so they weren’t friends. Tim was too clean, and his clothes, though simple, were too high of quality for him to be a street kid, and his accent wasn’t heavy, but it was definitely Bristol. How in the world had Jason found him? 

Jason poked the kid in the ribs. “What’s your last name, shorty?”

Tim tensed and opened his mouth for a several moments before he finally squeaked, “I plead the fourth.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at that, and Bruce’s lip twitched treacherously. “I see. I suppose I shall have to respect your right to not have your property searched without a warrant.”

Tim frowned, looking confused. “Um, thanks.”

Bruce doubted that he’d get a real answer from Tim, and he wanted the truth. The boy wasn’t a homeless street kid, so as long as he wasn’t homeschooled, there would be yearbooks photos. Even if he was homeschooled, there was likely a picture of him on social media somewhere. Bruce sat back down in his seat at the Batcomputer and typed in a few commands. Without any indication, the computer took a picture of the area in front of it. It was a simple matter to give the photo to the facial recognition program and tell it to find out who the unknown individual was. All that he had to do was wait, and he would have the information he needed. 

“Where did you find him?” he asked, spinning around to face them.

Jason scowled and ripped off his mask, leaving angry red marks that he didn’t seem to care about. “I went out to get some fresh air-” A term that the lingering scent of cigarette smoke proved to be very loose. “-and this kid was on my favorite roof. We talked for a bit, and then he called you Bruce. He didn’t want to spill his guts on the roof, so I brought him here so we can decide where to hide his body.”

Tim inhaled sharply, his face going deathly white. “B-Batman doesn’t kill.”

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I don’t. We’re not going to kill you, Tim, but I need you to tell me how you know.”

J’onn could remove the memories that Tim couldn’t be trusted with. It would be invasive, something J’onn wouldn’t like, but even if Tim managed to stay clean in Gotham, a rare feat, he was too young and immature to hold secrets like that if he was accidentally naming Bruce as Batman. 

Did the boy’s parents know? Just because he hadn’t been told who Batman was didn’t mean that he hadn’t told anyone else. Damnit, he knew how kids liked to show off. There was probably an entire class of fifth graders running around who knew who Batman was. As long as Tim didn’t have any _evidence_ , the rumors might be discarded as kids’ imaginations, but it was still an irritating situation to deal with.

“Oh,” Tim said, looking at the floor and grinding the toe of his shoe against a groove in the metal platform. “I, well…”

“Take your time.” Bruce tried not to let his frustration show in his tone.

Tim took a deep breath, then abruptly took off at the speed of light. “When I was three, I went to the circus and I met Dick, and I saw him do the quadruple somersault, and then when I was nine, I saw Robin do a quadruple somersault on TV, but only the Flying Graysons could do those, and since Dick is the only Flying Grayson left, he _had_ to be Robin, and so you had to be Batman, and then Robin left and became Nightwing, and you got Jason, and then you got another Robin, and I didn’t _mean_ to know, but it was really really obvious, and I never told anyone but Jason, and I swear that was an accident, and I’m really sorry, and-”

Bruce held up a hand to stop him and resisted the urge to rub his sudden headache. That was...worrying, but there wasn’t much Bruce could do about that. He should probably tell Dick not to do anymore quadruple somersaults, but…the risk was low, and he didn’t want to take away one of Dick’s few remaining connections to his parents. Besides, if Tim had seen Dick do a quadruple somersault on TV, that meant that there was a recording out there somewhere, and hacking the station to corrupt the file might only serve to draw attention to it. He couldn’t account for viewers’ recordings, either. There were some things he couldn’t erase: the world knew that Robin, now Nightwing, was able to do a quadruple somersault, but none of them seemed to know what that meant. It had been ten years since the Graysons had died; if anyone else were going to figure it out, they most likely would have by that point.

Tim, on the other hand, slapped a hand over his chest and gasped down a huge breath of air.

“Is that all?” Bruce sighed.

Tim nodded guiltily. “I swear, I never messed up like that before. I only messed up this time because I was talking to Jason and I forgot to be careful because he already knew.”

Bruce just nodded. Tim seemed earnest, so maybe he was telling the truth. Bruce didn’t like the idea of leaving the memories in his head, though. Given how long he’d had them, though, removing the memories might leave gaps large enough that Tim would notice and do something to retrieve them. It would depend on just how much those memories had affected his life, but if Tim recovered his memories and felt betrayed, then he might weaponize that knowledge. 

“You haven’t told your parents?” Jason asked suspiciously.

Tim flinched so slightly that anyone but the bats might have missed it. Bruce frowned. Tim looked comfortably upper class, where abuse was less common, but not unheard of. 

“It’s late,” Bruce pointed out, watching Tim for a reaction. “We should probably be getting you home.”

Tim flinched again, this time slightly more noticeably. “That’s fine. I can get home by myself, sir.”

Jason scoffed. “Nope. We need to have a chat with your _babysitter_.”

“My baby-” Tim’s eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened comically. “My babysitter! Yes! Her. Um, she’ll, y’know. Be sleeping and all. And she, uh, takes pills, so you can’t wake her up. You’ll have to, like, not.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. There was no way in hell that that kid had a babysitter.

Jason, more sadistic than Bruce, smirked and pressed for details. “What’s this babysitter’s name, Timmers?”

“Her name’s…Candy. She’s, you know. Sweet. And stuff.” Tim winced at his own lie. 

The grin Jason flashed was purely predatory. “Has _Candy_ got a last name to go with that?”

“Wwwalker?” Tim was a horrible liar. There was no way they could leave him with their secret identities. He needed to call J’onn to the cave _immediately_. 

“Did your parents leave you home alone?” Bruce asked. 

If the boy had actually been left at home alone, that would work out very well for them. They could keep him in the cave until J’onn was available to come help them deal with the situation. The fact that it was summer also played to his advantage; he didn’t have to get the boy home by school time.

Tim didn’t seem to realize that Bruce was pleased by the fact. Every muscle in his body tensed defensively, and he took a small step backward. “I- Only for a couple days!”

Tim’s reaction was surprising, and telling. It seemed remarkably similar to the one he had when he was lying, but why would he be lying about being left alone for a couple of days? Maybe his parents had actually been gone a week, maybe two. At Tim’s age, that would be illegal, and incredibly foolish since they lived in _Gotham_.

The Batcomputer dinged behind him as the facial recognition software finished its search. 

Bruce turned back to the computer screen. _Match found: Timothy Jackson Drake._

Bruce’s blood ran cold. He could hear Tim’s quiet gasp behind him, but he barely processed it. _That_ was how he knew Tim; the Drakes had introduced him to their son at a gala several months ago. 

He also remembered a few _other_ things the Drakes had said to him at that gala. Notably the fact that they were leaving the country, and wouldn’t be back until…what had they said, August? September? 

Bruce turned slowly, eyeing Tim. “Your parents are in Morocco.”

He’d assumed that the Drakes were taking Tim with them, or that they employed a nanny. 

Tim pulled his crossed arms tight against his chest defensively and looked at the floor. 

“Have they left you alone this whole time?” Bruce growled.

Tim flinched. “Please don’t tell them about this,” he pleaded.

“What? You know his parents?” Jason asked. “What do you mean they’re in Morocco?” 

Bruce didn’t acknowledge Jason’s question in favor of pressing on Tim. “I can easily check their employment records, Tim. Don’t lie to me. Did your parents leave you alone this whole time?”

Tim nodded, and Bruce clenched his fist. That was child abandonment, plain and simple, and horribly dangerous. They were in _Gotham_.

“Is this the first time they’ve done this?” Bruce demanded, making an attempt to hold back his anger, which Tim clearly interpreted as directed at him.

“Yes?” Tim whispered. 

Another lie. Damnit.

He couldn’t let it go on. Tim was wandering around Gotham alone in midnight and living alone in a city with horrendously high rates of murderers, burglars, and child predators. He wasn’t sure what he could do about it, though. The foster system was corrupt as well, with too many social workers and foster parents in the mob’s pocket. It would be even more dangerous for a rich kid, the outsider who wouldn’t know how city life worked. 

“I’m fine alone, really,” Tim promised anxiously. “There’s a security system, and I have food, and they gave me a credit card, and the housekeeper cleans every Thursday.”

“Tim, that is not enough. Your parents cannot leave you alone for months on end. Children need supervision. Especially ones who run into Gotham to-” Bruce frowned, realizing that he didn’t even know what Tim had been doing. “Why were you in Gotham?”

Tim flinched and protectively tightened his hands around the strap of the bag over his shoulder. 

“He said,” Jason drawled, “that he liked nighttime photography.”

“I just, y’know. Like the skyline,” Tim mumbled.

Bruce fixed Tim with a narrow gaze. There wasn’t much that he could be photographing that he couldn’t photograph earlier in better lighting and more safety. Besides, Tim was stammering, which was obviously a tell for lying.

The boy’s excitement when he’d arrived tugged at his memory. If Tim liked superheroes, and nighttime photography…

“Let me see your camera,” Bruce held out his hand.

Tim inhaled sharply and pulled the bag up against his chest. “You don’t have a warrant.”

Bruce blinked, but then remembered that he’d agreed to honor Tim’s fourth amendment rights. Tim was staring at him with wide eyes, and shuffled a half step backward when Bruce made to stand. 

Bruce swore mentally, but he couldn’t very well walk over and forcefully snatch a bag off of the body of a frightened child.

Jason, on the other hand, had made no such promises. He grabbed the strap and pulled it over Tim’s head. Tim yelped and clung to the strap, but Jason ignored him and towed him along as he pulled the camera bag over to Bruce.

Bruce had to fight the urge to take the bag and search the camera for the evidence Tim’s reaction almost guaranteed.

“Jason, let it go,” he said instead.

Jason gave him an incredulous look, and dropped the bag with pointed attitude. Tim scrambled back, hugging the bag to his chest. His eyes were terrified, and he didn’t seem to be breathing.

“…Tim,” Bruce said in his best board meeting voice, catching the boy’s eyes. “Let’s make a deal.” 

“A deal?” Tim squeaked. 

Bruce nodded, considering his words carefully. “If you show me your camera, I won’t report your parents for leaving you alone while they went to Morocco.”

Tim bit his lip, and Bruce could tell that Tim had caught the loophole that had left Bruce. Still, the ultimatum didn’t leave Tim much of an option and Bruce wasn’t above blackmailing children into safety.

“They won’t do it again,” Tim said, dreadfully somber. 

“I hope not.” 

Bruce held out his hand, and Tim hesitantly handed the camera bag over. Bruce undid the clips on the bag and opened the bag. 

It was a nice camera, high end, with several other lenses in the bag. Bruce didn’t know much about cameras, but he knew enough that it was more than just a casual kit. A lot of money had gone into the set, which made it even more worrying that Tim had been wandering around Gotham carrying it.

Bruce turned on the camera and flipped through the gallery. There was a skyline, from several angles, an artistic framing of some lichen, and a bland shot of an air conditioning. Bruce almost regretted handing away his best bargaining chip for nothing as the recent shots of the roof didn’t seem to end, but then he clicked the arrow one more time and smiled.

It was a picture of Jason, swinging across the street with a grin on his face. He looked like a bird in flight. Bruce had hardly any pictures of his boys in their costumes, despite how much he loved the way they came alive as Robin and Nightwing, and he certainly hadn’t been taking any of them during patrol. 

“I might frame this one,” he commented, and tilted the camera to show Jason.

Jason’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, you’ve been _stalking_ us?”

Tim’s face went cherry red. “It’s wildlife photography?”

Jason burst out into laughter and Tim buried his face in his hands. Bruce allowed himself a small chuckle and he flipped through a few more pictures. There were a few dark or bright blurs that must have been him and Jason in some picture, but for the most part, the photos were surprisingly professional for a boy – how old was Tim? It had been ten years since the Graysons had died, so Tim would be thirteen. 

The longer Bruce looked through the pictures, the more obviously serious the situation became. Tim had clearly followed them all over Gotham on multiple occasions, maybe even nightly. 

He had no clue as to how long Tim had been taking these pictures, but if he’d been at it anywhere near as long as he’d known their identities, then removing his memories wasn’t going to be quite as simple as he’d thought. Even just the bus trip to and from Gotham would be at least an hour, and that didn’t include the time Tim would have spent planning his trips or actually taking the photos. To completely erase hours of every day of weeks or months, possibly even years, of his life would be a potentially devastating experience. There was no way that Tim wouldn’t notice those gaps, either. Even if Tim never found a way to undo the process, living in distress like that would be horrible for him. If he _did_ find a telepath to help him recover his memories, and a rich kid like him would have a much easier time of that than most, then the telepath would find out who Batman was.

Bruce sat down and massaged his temples. He couldn’t do that to Tim. He also couldn’t leave him living alone for months on end. It took him a long minute to finally admit that there was only one option

As long as no one directly asked Tim _Is Bruce Wayne Batman?_ , they’d probably be fine. If they were going to let him keep his memories, then they’d also need to keep an eye on him. Tim could stay with them, at least until his parents returned, which would solve both problems. He could teach Tim how to lie better, and have _words_ with Jack and Janet when they returned. Maybe Tim and Jason could be friends.

He finally looked up at Tim and winced. ‘Friends’ might not be on the table. Jason’s laughter was finally trailing off, but Tim looked like he might be crying behind his hands.

“Tim,” Bruce called, purposely making his tone gentle in what Jason called his best _I’m not going to murder you and toss your body into the depths of my underground lair_ voice, narrowly avoiding what Jason called his _stop, you just sound like a creeper like that_ voice. “I’m not upset with you. You’re not in trouble.”

Tim sniffed quietly, and carefully pulled the cuffs of his jacket up his hands so he could surreptitiously wipe his face. Damn, he _had_ been crying. 

Bruce cut a look to Jason, who had sobered up and clearly noticed the same thing. 

Jason crossed quickly to Tim and yanked him into a wrestling hold of a hug. Tim whimpered in fear, probably assuming the worse, but Jason kept him tucked up against his chest.

“God, kid, we’re not going to hurt you,” Jason scolded. “I just wasn’t expecting that I had a baby stalker.”

Tim tried to pull away, but Jason was unyielding. 

Bruce gave Jason a look and shook his head. Dick’s approach of forcefully hugging away someone’s negative emotions was not going to work on a kid who was scared _of Jason_.

Jason scowled, but let Tim go. Tim frantically wiped at his face before looking up and half reaching forward before pulling his hand back and wiping his eyes again.

Bruce frowned, then realized that Tim’s eyes were locked on the camera in his hand. Tim probably didn’t expect him to give it back, but there was no reason that he couldn’t keep the camera. There didn’t seem to be anything incriminating about the photos, and Tim’s hobby wouldn’t have been a problem if he weren’t a child.

Bruce powered off the camera, put it back in its slot, and held the bag out to Tim. Tim looked startled, then slowly inched forward to take it. 

“Alright, here’s how this is going to work,” Bruce said when Tim’s hand brushed his. Tim flinched and pulled back, but Bruce pointedly held the camera bag a bit farther toward Tim. That time, the boy snatched the strap and pulled it away before Bruce could change his mind. “Tim, you’re going to stay with us until your parents return. As promised, I will not report their criminal neglect to the CPP this time, but if they pull another stunt like this, I might have to. That being said, I think it would be better for you to stay with your parents if that is possible. Are we agreed?”

Tim stared at him in utter shock. Finally, he nodded weakly.

“Good,” Bruce said. “I need to speak with Jason alone. Will you be alright here alone for a few minutes?”

The irony that he was leaving Tim alone immediately after temporarily solving the boy’s neglectful homelife. Tim didn’t seem to notice, though, and nodded again, a bit more enthusiastically. 

Bruce stood up and walked toward the medbay, far enough to be out of earshot, but close enough that he could keep an eye on Tim. He heard Jason’s footsteps following him, but he didn’t look back to see his face. Jason was probably pissed at him, and he didn’t want to start the argument any earlier than they had to. No, he just didn’t want to argue with Jason anymore.

When he’d nearly reached the far wall, Bruce realized he couldn’t stall anymore. 

He turned to face his son. 

Jason didn’t look mad. He looked apprehensive and wary.

Of course he did, he was probably waiting for Bruce to flip on him again.

Bruce ran a hand down his face. “Jay-”

“Sorry,” Jason interrupted, not meeting Bruce’s eyes. “Shouldn’ta brought him back here. It was a bad idea.”

Bruce felt like he’d been hit again, hard. How had he let things come to this, and why had it taken an incident so bizarre to make him see how scared Jason was? Even when he was upset, even when he knew that he was wrong, Jason was brazen. He hadn’t been so shy about failure since the early days, when he’d thought that Bruce was one mistake away from tossing him back onto the streets.

“Jason, you did exactly what you should have,” Bruce told him, ignoring for the moment the fact that he shouldn’t have been out in the first place. “You perceived a threat and contained it in the best way you could have, given the circumstances. I’m not mad at you.”

Jason rubbed his arm and still wouldn’t look at him. “Sorry about the smoking too.”

“That I am a bit more upset about, because those are very dangerous and you _know_ that, but that is a topic for another time,” Bruce said, risking stepping a bit closer. Jason didn’t react, so he continued. “Jason, what did you mean that you were thinking of running away?”

Jason sighed, then looked up at Bruce. “Catherine Todd isn’t my real mom.”

Bruce frowned, not sure he’d heard right. “She’s not?”

Jason blinked furiously to hide the tears that were obviously threatening to fall. “No. I went back to my old apartment, and one of my neighbors had this old box of my mom’s stuff. One of the things was my birth certificate, and…Catherine doesn’t start with an S.”

Bruce just stared at him. 

His son had a mother. A mother who could take him away, a mother he might _want_ to let take him away. That was why he’d been planning to run. 

Could he even stop Jason from running? Keep Jason from his mother just because it would hurt so much to let him go? He had to- Maybe they could work out some sort of shared custody, or Bruce could still visit his son, but if he had a biological mother…

His devastation must have showed on his face, because Jason’s eyes widened. 

“I wasn’t leaving _forever_!” Jason rushed. “I just wanted to meet her and find out why she left or if she wanted to see me. I’m not leaving…Gotham.”

The _I’m not leaving you_ , went unsaid, but Bruce felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

He smiled. “I’m glad. Where does your mom live, Jason? I’ll see if we can arrange a trip to see her.”

“Ethiopia?”

“You were going to run away to _Ethiopia_?” Bruce cried incredulously. “Are you trying to get yourself _killed_?”

Jason stiffened. “I wasn’t going to _die_ , Bruce. I was just going to meet my mom and come back.”

“You can’t run to Ethiopia alone for the same reason that Tim can’t live alone when his parents are in Morocco, Jason,” Bruce explained, trying to be forceful without making it a fight. “I know that you can take care of yourself, but you still need protection. When _we_ go to meet your mother, we will do it together.”

“So you’ll let me see her?” Hope sparked in Jason’s eyes. 

Bruce smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “Of course. She’s your mother and you’re my son. I want what’s best for you. I…” Bruce had always tried his best to convey the more awkward sentiments through actions, rather than words, but it had to be said, no matter how hard it was. It shouldn’t be so hard. He needed to practice. “Jason, I love you.”

Jason drew in a quick breath, then slammed himself into Bruce’s chest before Bruce could even react. He was knocked back a step by the surprise and the force of the blow, but then he smiled and wrapped his arms around his son. It was probably foolish to worry so much - Jason was competent enough to survive on the streets of Gotham alone, so a quick trip to Ethiopia probably would have been fine – but the idea of Jason, at fifteen, being alone all the way around the world, so far from where Bruce could protect him, made him sick with dread.

“I love you Jason,” Bruce whispered against his ear. “I know I don’t always show it, but you belong here and that will never change. Do you understand?”

Jason nodded into his chest, and Bruce cherished the feeling of his son just leaning on him – his heartbeat that Bruce could feel against his chest slowing from frantic to peaceful, and his breathing that was slowly leveling out – safe in his arms.

When Jason finally pulled back, Bruce ruffled his hair again and brushed a few stay tears off of Jason’s cheeks. 

“Are you feeling better?”

Jason nodded and grabbed a tissue from the box they kept there for after-Ivy allergies.

Bruce hmmed. “Go get changed and take Tim to one of the guest rooms. It’s late, and you both need sleep. I’ll see if I can get in contact with your mother and arrange a meeting. Does that sound good to you?”

Jason nodded again. “Thanks, Bruce. Are we…Are we keeping the baby stalker?”

Bruce and Jason both looked over to Tim, who, oblivious to his own observers, had his camera out and was taking pictures with the biggest smile Bruce had ever seen on anyone who wasn’t Dick.

“His parents won’t be back until August or September. They go on long trips frequently, but I didn’t realize that he was alone. I don’t know if we’ll formally take him in, but we need to watch out for him in more ways than one,” Bruce said.

Jason grimaced. “Are we going to teach him how to lie?”

“Hell yes.”

Jason snorted a laugh and started walking to the changing area. 

Bruce walked back toward Tim. “Having fun, I see.”

Tim jumped a foot and nearly dropped his camera, the smile replaced with a panicked expression.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t take pictures,” Tim argued defensively, though the way he bit his lip betrayed his nerves.

“I didn’t,” Bruce agreed. “And you may, as long as your photos of the cave stay secret, and as long as you don’t photograph anyone out of costume in the cave.”

Tim’s grin returned, cautious but bright. “I can?!”

“As long as you’re accompanied by one of us, or by Alfred, then you can take your pictures.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne!” Tim exclaimed.

Bruce let himself return a small mirror of the smile. “Just Bruce, Tim.”

Jason emerged from the changing room in his pajamas, with a spare set thrown over his arm. 

“Hey, shorty, c’mere,” Jason called from the foot of the stairs. “It’s past bedtime for baby stalkers. You have to get lots of sleep, or else you won’t be able to grow into a big, strong stalker.”

Tim flushed deep red, but he shuffled over toward Jason. He only got a few steps before he paused and looked over his shoulder at Bruce.

“Are you sure about this? I can still go home,” Tim offered quietly.

“Go with Jason, Tim. We can talk more in the morning.”

Tim sighed and reluctantly followed Jason up the stairs.

When they were gone, Bruce pulled up Jason’s birth certificate. Of course there was an electronic version of the certificate in the government database, but Bruce had never thought to hack it and check. He’d always known Jason’s mother as Catherine Todd, but there on the birth certificate were the names _Willis Todd_ and _Sheila Haywood_. 

With the name, it wasn’t hard to find out everything the internet and government databases knew about her. He checked her bank statements too, while he was at it, to know whether or not he should prepare for Sheila to try to use Jason to get money from him.

What he found was more alarming than a poor woman who might use her son to squeeze money from his rich father, though it did indicate that she very likely would. Sheila Haywood had been embezzling funds from the relief organization she worked for. It wasn’t a violent crime, but without that money, people could die. Still, he didn’t want to throw her in prison before Jason even go the chance to meet her.

He’d let Sheila know when they met in person, without Jason overhearing, that her behavior would stop, or it would reach the proper authorities. If he called her on it before, then she might refuse to meet Jason, so he’d keep track of how much she took between then and when they met, and give double to the organization she’d taken it from to compensate them for his willful negligence.

Aside from that, Sheila didn’t appear to be immediately dangerous to Jason, so Bruce typed up a quick email explaining the barebones of the situation, and that Jason wanted to meet her. He sent it off, then changed and went upstairs. 

He stopped him in the hall outside of Jason’s room, then hesitated. He didn’t check on Jason the way he’d checked on Dick; in Jason’s early days, he’d been so high strung that Bruce had kept his distance, especially at night. It had seemed strange to suddenly start poking his head into the room after nearly a year, so Bruce always said his goodnights in the cave or the hall. That night, though… they’d had their talk, Bruce couldn’t help the anxiety in his chest that demanded to know where Jason was. 

He gave in, and quietly cracked open the door. 

Inside, Jason’s head lifted off the pillow, and the sliver of light from the hall hit his squinting features.

“Stop being a creeper, Bruce,” Jason groaned groggily and buried his face in his pillow.

“Goodnight, Jay. I love you,” Bruce chuckled and shut the door.

Jason was safe. He wasn’t going anywhere. Dick was safe as far as he knew, and Alfred as well. Somewhere in the house, little Timothy Drake, suddenly his problem, was safe too. All was right in the world for the night.

It wasn’t until he was in his own bed, about to drift off, that a thought occurred to him. 

Had he warned Alfred about Tim?

Bruce shrugged drowsily to himself and let himself drift off. 

He’d probably warned Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....and they plan a trip to meet Sheila Haywood, but then the Joker escapes, so they postpone their trip until they put the Joker back in Arkham and foil his evil plans. Ta-da!  
> I had so much trouble writing the word "Ethiopia." Even when I typed that, I wrote "Ethipoia" the first time. It's way to late to be alive, but that isn't stopping me.  
> Let me know what you think, and check out some of my other works if you like this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: okay, sleep  
> Eccentric Wolf: I love waking up to your stories! :)  
> Me: *picks up sleep* *tosses it out the window*

When Alfred first caught sight of the small black head poked out into the hallway and staring at Alfred from a guest bedroom door, his first thought was that Master Jason had been hit by some kind of de-aging spell. However, upon closer examination, the boy had only a superficial resemblance to Master Jason, with his black hair, blue eyes, and nervous demeanor.

His next thought was that it was Master Bruce de-aged and terrified to sleep in his parents’ bedroom. While that would explain the guestroom and the fact that the boy’s appearance was close enough to Master Bruce’s—pale skin, similar eyes, similar stature at that approximate age—that Alfred had to consider twenty years of memories and photographs he barely glanced at while dusting a few moments longer before noticing that the boy’s bone structure beneath the thin padding of baby fat was too different.

The boy was clearly not Master Dick, who at that boy’s age had outgrown any and all of the wariness that had hung with Jason in the beginning and had never had the same memories that had haunted Bruce that the boy’s nervous manner suggested, and who was much darker skinned than the translucent child before him.

That left only one option, which, though it was Gotham and the oddest things happened with surprising regularity, should have been obvious: Bruce had brought home another one.

And he had, again, not informed Alfred until he’d _come home_ with it. And like his adoption, more truly a kidnapping, of Master Jason, he had again not elected to inform Alfred that they had gained a new family member _before_ Alfred stumbled upon him.

Alfred didn’t let any of those thoughts show. The boy, whatever Bruce had or hadn’t done, was innocent and had quite likely suffered something truly grievous if Master Bruce had resorted to bringing him home to the manor.

“Hello,” Alfred said after his long moments of silence.

“Hi,” the little boy squeaked, drawing back into the room until Alfred could only see half of one eye and one drawn up little shoulder.

Alfred blinked, not entirely certain how to proceed.

_When in doubt, breakfast._

“Good morning, Master…” Alfred trailed off, hoping that his intonation would indicate to the child that it was a question.

It did not.

“What is your name, young sir?”

The boy inhaled sharply and his eye widened. “Oh! Sorry! I’m, um, Tim?”

“Tim” did not seem supremely confident of that fact, but it seemed to be more his nerves than a likely alias. He did seem a quite anxious little boy.

Alfred softened, tension he hadn’t realized was there easing from his shoulders. “Master Tim. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, and I am the family butler. Would you like some breakfast?”

Master Tim hesitated a moment, then leaned out just a bit from behind the door, enough for Alfred to see his teeth digging into his lower lip with nearly enough force to break the skin. Alfred couldn’t help but wonder if the boy was nervous by nature or due to some horrible tragedy or abuse inflicted upon him.

“Okay?” Master Tim slowly slipped from behind his door and into the hallway, watching Alfred carefully like he was afraid that he’d misinterpreted Alfred’s offer.

Alfred just smiled. The boy was absolutely swamped in Master Jason’s favorite Wonder Woman pajamas, even though he’d rolled up the cuffs on both the pants and sleeves several times and tied the drawstring as tightly as it could go.

Alfred waited a moment for Master Tim to come to him, but when it became clear that that would not happen, Alfred turned and started down the hall. “If you will follow me…”

“Yes, sir,” Master Tim mumbled.

Socked feet scuffed on short carpet as Tim scampered to catch up before slowing to a pace that allowed him to follow Alfred from a few steps behind. _Like a duckling_ , Alfred thought to himself even as he stopped and stepped to the side so that he could walk beside his new charge.

Master Tim’s blush when he realized that Alfred was waiting for him was both endearing and heartbreaking. No child should be so insecure that even the barest of considerations made him smile so softly and hidden.

Alfred started walking again, and Master Tim glanced behind them. Master Tim opened his mouth to say something with a quizzical tilt to his eyebrows, then snapped it shut again.

“Yes?” Alfred inquired.

Master Tim stared up at Alfred and blushed before glancing back again at the other doors.

“It’s just—shouldn’t we get Jason and Mr. Wayne too?”

Such a conscientious little boy.

“Master Jason can sleep as late as he would like,” Alfred told Master Tim. “And Master Bruce will wake soon enough.”

Bruce often set alarms on his phone to distract him in case he got caught up in his work and forgot about other obligations, like his meeting at ten o’clock with the Wayne Enterprise board of directors. He’d only leave himself barely enough time to meet those obligations, though, but Alfred had no doubt that Bruce would manage.

Normally, Alfred would wake his son in time to prepare for such events, but today Alfred was occupied with the darling child Bruce hadn’t thought to inform him of.

“Oh. That’s good.” Tim drawn features eased into something slightly less anxious for just a moment before tightening again. “Am I up to early? I can go back to bed!”

Alfred shook his head indulgently as he led Tim down the stairs. “Of course not, my boy. I am glad for the company. In fact, I would be very interested in finding out more about you.”

 _And what Bruce did to bring you here,_ he left unstated because he was sure that it was all Bruce.

“Oh,” Master Tim said. “Um…I’m Timothy Drake. I like photography—” That statement caused him to blush beet red, but Alfred couldn’t imagine why. “—but, um, you don’t want to know about that.”

Alfred tried not to frown, lest the boy think it was directed at him. “Yes, I do want to know about that. I would like to get to know you.”

Master Tim’s eyes and mouth widened with shock, and he quickly turned his face away.

It was a moment before the rest of Master Tim’s statement processed. _Drake_ was not an uncommon name, but neither was it very prevalent either. He’d read about Jack and Janet Drake’s archeological trips in the newspaper some time ago, though, and he did think that Master Tim could be a combination of the two people in a blurry photograph in his blurry memory, and that would make sense of the slight Bristol accent. His father’s coloring and his mother’s sharp yet delicate features.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the son of Jack and Janet Drake, would you?” Alfred asked, a bit unsure. If the boy’s parents were dead, then it might be insensitive, but Master Tim was not acting like a grieving child, only an anxious one. If they _were_ his parents, it raised even more questions about why he was with them. How in the world would a young boy from Bristol run across Batman? On the other hand, if he _was_ a child of two wealthy Gothamites, it was quite likely that he went to Gotham Academy and may be a friend of Master Jason’s visiting, still without Alfred’s foreknowledge, but not permanent either. Master Jason had never mentioned him, though.

Master Tim glanced back up at Alfred and nodded, seeming slightly more sure of himself with a question that he knew the answer to. “Y—yeah, I mean yes! They’re my mom and dad.”

Alfred nodded, slightly soothed. “I see. Are you a friend of Master Jason’s?”

Master Tim glanced at the floor again and shook his head. “Not really, no.”

Alfred frowned. That removed _that_ convenient theory. “Then may I ask how you came to be in the manor?”

Master Tim raised his head, the small confidence of knowing the answer allowing him to make brief eye contact before he said quite simply, “Jason kidnapped me, and Mr. Wayne said I can’t go home.”

Alfred stopped in his tracks, just paces from the kitchen door. “They what?”

“I was in Gotham to take pictures of—” Master Tim pursed his lips. “—stuff, but apparently I was on Jason’s smoking roof, and we talked for a bit, and he said he was going to run away to find his birth mom, but then he decided not to.” A bit worrying, but Master Jason had always been a dramatic child, and he and Bruce had been fighting so much lately. “And then I kind of accidentally told him that I knew who he and Mr. Wayne are, so…”

“So Jason brought you here against your will and Bruce is keeping you here for the crime of knowing his identity?” Alfred was one second away from snapping and waking up Bruce just to yell at him, and quite possibly Jason as well.

Master Tim’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, I—well Jason _kind of_ kidnapped me, but I agreed to come, and Bruce won't let me go home because my parents are in Morocco and I don’t have a babysitter. He called it _neglect_ , but I’m old enough to take care of myself. He said that if I didn’t stay here until they came back, he had to call CPP, but really it’s _fine_.”

Master Tim’s tone indicated that he thought that Master Bruce was being quite unreasonable, but good _lord_ , what were the Drakes thinking, leaving a child alone? In Gotham? Surely the Drakes could have afforded a fleet of baby sitters.

“I am rather inclined to agree with his assessment,” Alfred said, not wishing to upset the boy but also not wishing to let Master Tim think any longer that it was acceptable for adults and caretakers to treat him so terribly. “It is quite illegal to leave a child your age alone for—how long will they be gone?”

Master Tim’s nose scrunched up at the word _child_ , as boys his age often did. “Not _that_ long. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.”

Alfred shook his head and stepped into the kitchen. “It is a _big deal_ because it is dangerous for someone your age to live alone, especially in this town.”

Master Tim didn’t say anything, but he did look glum when Alfred glanced back at him.

Alfred softened. Master Jason had not accepted initially that mistakes and poor behavior did not result in physical blows either. Master Tim’s abuse was less evident, but still deeply ingrained. It would not come easily undone with two conversations.

“What would you like for breakfast, Master Tim?” Alfred asked in lieu of continuing the disagreement and waved for Master Tim to take a seat at the counter. Better to let the boy stew on their words for a bit.

Master Tim bit his lip again, hiked up the legs of his pants like a Victorian lady with a cumbersome gown, then climbed up into one of the tall barstools. “I—whatever you’re making is fine. I’ll eat anything.”

Alfred hummed in acknowledgment. Master Tim was thin, though not starving like Master Jason had been, and could certainly use some fattening up.

“Would pancakes suit your tastes?” Alfred suggested.

“Y-yes, please,” Master Tim agreed with a slight smile.

Alfred smiled too and started pulling out ingredients. “Of course, Master Tim.”

Master Tim was silent as he watched Alfred work, but when Alfred glanced at him, he wasn’t cowering at the thought of talking, merely engrossed in watching Alfred work.

Alfred had just dropped a scoop of batter into the hot butter in the bottom of a skillet when Bruce came into the room, pulling on a tie as he crossed quickly to the toaster.

“I thought you were going to wake me up,” Bruce said as he put two slices of bread into the toaster, the limit of what cooking he was allowed to do in Alfred’s kitchen.

“Bruce,” Alfred said coolly, glancing at the settings on the toaster—Bruce liked his toast nearly charred, for whatever reason—before deciding that they were in no imminent threat of a fire and going back to glaring at his son.

Bruce tensed, alerted to Alfred’s displeasure by the lack of an honorific. Bruce turned, having the nerve to give Alfred a confused look before he seemed to notice Tim’s presence for the first time.

His eyes widened. “I did warn you about Tim, right?”

Alfred’s flat stare was all the answer Bruce needed before flinching slightly, admonished.

“I’m sorry, it was late, it must have slipped my mind,” Bruce said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Tim, this is my butler, Alfred; Alfred, this is Tim.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows, but the bite was not there anymore. “We’ve met.”

He flipped one of the pancakes, then happened to look up at Master Tim.

The boy had drawn in on himself, fiddling with the long sleeves of the flannel Wonder Woman suit, glancing frequently to Master Bruce and occasionally to Alfred. Alfred didn’t know if it was a renewed nervousness at the approach of another adult or a stress reaction to two adults being perceived as fighting, but he resolved silently to be more mindful of small ears.

“Tim will be staying with us until his parents return,” Master Bruce informed him, a fact that Master Tim had already told him, but it was good to have confirmation.

Alfred plated the pancakes and pushed them over to Master Tim before he retrieved the butter, the syrup, and some silverware.

“And when will that be?” Alfred asked as he set the items down in front of Master Tim. Master Tim was already nibbling on one of the pancakes, but he blushed and picked up the fork when it was set before him. Better table manners than Master Jason had come with, and without Alfred having to drill them into him as he’d done with Masters Bruce and Dick.

Bruce paused. “Tim, when will your parents be back?”

Master Tim looked up, his cheeks wide with pancakes and caught in the dilemma of answering immediately or trying to quickly swallow.

“Take your time and chew that,” Alfred instructed, not wanting to have to perform the Heimlich so early in the morning.

Master Tim chewed the bare minimum needed not to choke, then swallowed and said, a bit hoarsely, “October?”

Alfred stared. Master Bruce stared.

Master Tim stared too, but with worried confusion back at them. “But _early_ October. And they’re going to be back for a whole month to take care of business stuff.”

Alfred shared a look with Master Bruce, that shifted from horror to mutual understanding and acceptance.

No parent who would leave their child unattended for months on end like that and only return _for business_ cared enough about their child to change any more than prosecutable behaviors, not the indifference which had led them to be so careless with their son’s like in the first place. Master Bruce had implied that Master Tim would be returning to his parents, but Alfred was willing to bet that it would not last long before the Drakes did something else to endanger or neglect their son.

Better that Master Bruce kept him where he could be safe and cared for, although Master Tim might take some convincing based on his defensiveness of his parents’ poor behavior and his apparent belief that their actions were acceptable.

“Would you like some juice, Master Tim?”

“Oh…” Master Tim considered nervously, not like he was unsure as to whether or not he would like a drink, but as though he thought there was a right answer that Alfred was looking for. “Y—yes, please.”

It would take a long time to build Master Tim’s confidence, Alfred thought to himself as he stepped to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice, starting by encouraging the boy to think for himself without worrying that he would be punished or belittled for his opinion.

Alfred poured the juice into a tumbler and set the glass beside Tim’s plate with a satisfied smile.

They would have that time.

They had months.

With the Drakes’ current attitudes, they had _years_.

Alfred had three grandsons now.


End file.
